Arthur Renai Craftswell is an artist, a student of the traditionalist style. He sculpts and he paints and he draws, not for money, but for the sheer sake of art. He has never sold a painting or had his work displayed in a gallery of any kind. He has a job that he's not terribly interested in but it pays the bills that allow him to keep doing what he loves. He's not one to socialize and there aren't many ponies that know his name or the work he does. In other words, Arthur is nopony special. And that fact doesn't bother him one bit.
Being special or openly unique or outgoing in Equestria, and in Ponyville especially, usually meant that one way or another, you would get pulled into some kind of hi-jinks. Arthur was not a fan of hi-jinks, or shenanigans, or tomfoolery of any kind. But he had a close foalhood friend who was. A friend who by some turn of fate had also come to live in Ponyville. Arthur and this friend, a perky and outgoing mare, had been incredibly close growing up, and when he had moved to Ponyville some years ago, they had spent a great deal of time together, when she wasn't busy brightening up the days of others. But then a certain purple unicorn, who was now an alicorn princess, moved to town, and Arthur's friend became subject to the hi-jinks and shenanigans he was so eager to avoid. So he left her to her adventures, and though her schedule was much more hectic now, she always tried to find some time to get together with her old friend, a day when they could sit, she could bounce new comedy material off him and he could educate her on the nuances of ancient Equestrian artistry. This was one of those days.
"And then the farmer turned to the quantum physicist and said, 'That's no particle accelerator, that's my daughter!' "
"Diane?"
"Yeah, Artie?"
"Remember that conversation we had about punchlines without context?"
"Well, duuuuh. How can I forget when you remind me about it everytime we see each other. Silly."
"No, you're silly. Because no matter how many times I remind you, you always seem to forget the start-up to at least one joke."
"Huh. . . I swear I told somepony the beginning of that joke. Was I talking to myself? Or maybe I just-"
"Don't sweat it Diane. It's no big deal."
"It is so a big deal! We spend so little time together, I want every moment we do have to be filled with more laughs than the last."
"Honestly, I don't think anypony but you would be capable of accomplishing that feat."
Arthur chuckled to himself. That was Diane alright, or as so many others seemed to know her, Pinkie. Always trying to please everypony, bring a smile to their faces. So far as he knew, she had never failed in this regard. At the very least, she always made him smile.
Arthur took a look at the clock that hung over his front door. A clock of his own design, modeled after the classical statuesque ruggedness of Starswirl the Bearded. By the look of his beard-locks, it was about 9:35; about time for Diane to be heading home.
"How the time flies.", Artie said absentmindedly.
"Oh, that reminds me of a really good one, about this gryphon with dyscalculia and-"
"Diane, you really should get going. We both have work in the morning."
"But we were just starting to have a good time."
"Any time I'm spending with you is a good time, Diane."
"Aww. Well, aren't you just a big ol' sweetie. Oh, speaking of sweeties, did you enjoy that triple-decker tri-color lava cake I brought last time? It took a really long time to make and-"
"Yes, Diane, it was delicious. And you're stalling. Go home and get some rest."
"But then you'll be here all alone. And I can't, in good conscience, leave one of my bestest friends in the whole world by himself, lonely and depressed, in his lonely and depressing house. . . no offense. But that's just not how I do things!"
Artie sighed. He'd had this argument with Pinkie the last few times she'd been over for a visit and each time she was more obstinate in her desire to stay. And this time, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to convince her to go home. Unless. . .
"Diane, do you want to hear a story?"
"Ohh, I love stories! Is it a fairytale or a tragedy or a dramedy or-"
"It's a work of non-fiction. Something you may be familiar with, in fact. Just sit back and listen."
Pinkie did as she was asked, though she was jittering so violently she seemed fit to burst- of course this was nothing new for Pinkie. Arthur sat and thought to himself. How to begin this story, he wondered. After a brief moment of though, he decided to go with the old standby.
"Once upon a time-"
"I love it when stories start out that way."
"I know you do. Anyway, once upon a time, there was an artistic, young earth pony colt who lived in the city of Canterlot. This colt had discovered at a very young age what his special talent was, and his parents were very proud of him. They spent hundreds upon thousands of bits ensuring that the colt's talents would be nurtured and increased upon. But the colt did not care for any of this lavishing and attention. He did not care that all these bits were being spent to improve his talent. The colt just wanted to paint. He just wanted to express himself. But his parent would not listen. His parents would only keep encouraging him to shoot for the stars, so that one day he might be a renowned artist, so that one day his art might be featured in galleries all across Equestria. Maybe even all around the world. And while the colt had to admit that the prospects of fame and fortune were quite dazzling, he could not bring himself to shoot for the stars. But his parents would not quit.
"Spending increasingly exorbitant amounts of money, his parents decided that the colt would do best in an environment that provided no distraction. So they shipped him off, with all their love, to the Canterlot Academy for Advanced Artistic Inclination. The colt would spend many years here.
"The Academy was not the worst place to be. But there, much like at home, the colt was constantly accosted by stallions and mares, teachers and students alike who constantly told him to reach for the stars, prepare himself for fame and fortune, or who wished to tell him of their aspirations for the very same. Here, art was institutionalized and made into something less than what it should be. Rather than an expression of the self and of emotion and of perception, it was made into an assignment. Little more than something to be done for credit."
"That sounds awful," Pinkie said.
"Oh believe me, it was. So awful that the colt began to lose interest in that which was supposed to embody his life's purpose. He began to lose interest in the arts. But then the second semester of his schooling began, and the colt was provided a golden opportunity. Apparently, the first semester of every school year was spent "learning" the drivel that had been shoved down his throat, while the second was spent abroad, giving the students opportunities to take the techniques they had learned and find the beauty in wherever it was they decided to send themselves. At last, the colt thought to himself, a chance to be rid of all this pressure. So taking a look at the list of locations he had been provided, the colt decided on what he felt would be the perfect getaway for him: a moderately successful rock farm, a few miles outside of a village that was only about a days journey from Canterlot. Surely their would be no one to bother or pressure him on a rock farm. And for the most part, he was right."
"Hey, I grew up on a rock farm! And what do you mean, for the most part?", a confused Pinkie questioned.
"I'm getting there. Now, when the colt arrived at the rock farm, it was more than he could have asked for. Peaceful, quiet, and the owners themselves seemed like friendly, hardworking ponies. Here, there was nopony constantly prattling on about the potential for fame. Just two hardworking Earth ponies and their four daughters. The daughters themselves were sociable enough, though one held and almost abnormal fixation with the rocks she was supposed to farm. Two were content simply to work the fields, perhaps collecting a geode or precious stone here and there. The final daughter however was a different story entirely. He rarely saw her in the fields, and quite honestly, if not for the multitude of family portraits which she was a part of, he would have assumed her to be adopted. For this filly was very different from her sisters, in personality as well as in her bright pink coloration."
"I'm bright pink too! And I look waaaayy different from my sisters."
"Do you now? I hadn't noticed. Anyway, the colt was fascinated by the filly. And she, in turn, seemed fascinated by him. A pony whose talent was to throw parties was baffling to him, just as she was baffled by a pony whose talent was to paint and sculpt, but who didn't want to do either. He made it clear to her just why it was he held no interest in any of it, but still she was confused. After all, she said, If you like to paint and sculpt and draw, why should other ponies trying to support you bother you? The colt explained that if you did something strictly for profit or recognition, especially something like art, then you were doing it for the wrong reasons. The pink filly understood that. But still, she argued, even if that's true, and everypony is telling you to reach for the stars and get famous, does that mean you can't do your art for other reasons? From what she was hearing, those were all just suggestions. Nopony was forcing him to paint or draw for those reasons. The colt had no answer. Perhaps he'd been viewing his situation all wrong. And maybe this pink filly could help him look at things the right way.
"The colt and the pink filly ended up spending a lot of time with each other. They played, they planned parties for her family members, every now and again they would help in the fields. And when inspiration struck, they would sit and he would paint. Sometimes it would be a painting of the landscape, sometimes of the pink filly's sisters and father at work in the fields. But wherever the colt painted or whatever he drew, the pink filly would be by his side, providing moral support and enough jokes to fill a book on comedy. The colt was happier than he'd ever been. He'd regained his passion for the arts. And somewhere along the line, he'd made a friend in the pink filly. Which is why he was so devastated when he had to return to school. But the pink filly wasn't so sad. She said that she knew he would be back. Maybe not tomorrow or the day after that, but she knew he'd be back."
"And did he come back?"
"He certainly did. He spent every spring semester after that at the rock farm. Every time he went, the filly got funnier and more energetic and he grew more inspired. The years went by like this, until finally, the colt had grown into a fine young stallion, and the filly into a beautiful, perky and especially pink young mare."
"Hey, you didn't tell me this was going to be a love story!"
"Oh no, it isn't. The stallion and the pink mare had no romantic interest in each other. They were just friends, albeit very close friends. Which is why the stallion's last semester at school was so depressing. As per usual, he decided to make way to the rock farm. Upon arriving however, he learned that the pink mare had moved away from home. According to a note she had left for him, she had gone to spread the joy of laughter and parties to others less fortunate than her. She told him not to be sad. She assured him that they would see each other again. Perhaps not tomorrow or the day after that. But they would definitely see each other again. These words, though they warmed his heart, did little to soothe his sadness. His final semester of schooling went as his first did: lacking in inspiration. Still, he graduated, and moved back home with his parents, where he learned that they were in immeasurable debt. And so, though he hated himself for it, the stallion sold a large quantity of his original pieces to the curator of the Canterlotian Museum of Modern Art to pay off his parents debts."
"Did he get famous?"
"No. He asked that he not be credited and remain anonymous. Remember, fame and fortune were not his goals. Unfortunately, they seemed to be the goal of everyone in Canterlot. He tired of it. So he moved away."
"To where?"
"A quaint little village, a few miles from his friend, the pink mare's rock farm home. He expected only to find peace and quiet there. But he found something much better: The pink mare. Both were overjoyed that they were able to see each other once more, and spent nearly every waking hour with one another, discussing art, telling jokes, and sometimes just loafing around. The stallion was happy again."
"Aww. I love happy endings."
"But then the pink mare made new friends."
"Pardon?"
"She loved these friends with all her heart, just as she loved the stallion. But she could not be everywhere at once. So she and the stallion were not able to spend as much time together as they once had. It all came to an apex when the pink mare made one final new friend. This friend, a unicorn, became very close to the pink mare and four other mares. They became the best of friends and went on heart-pounding, pulse-racing adventures all across Equestria. The pink mare had almost no time now to spend with the stallion. But the stallion did not mind. He knew that she did the best she could, and that if she could spend more time with him, she would. That she was there was enough for him. She would always be there for him and he for her. And that's all he needed."
". . .I think I get what you're trying to say, Artie."
"Do you, Diane? Do you finally get it? You don't have to be here all the time. I understand that you have a busy schedule. I'm okay with it. Really, I am."
"I know, Artie. But it's not in my nature just to leave you by yourself. I'll be back sometime, okay? Maybe not tomorrow-"
"Or the day after that. But definitely sometime."
The two smiled at each other. Pinkie yawned, gave Artie a goodbye hug, and went on her way. Artie sighed and glanced at the clock. 10:10. Time for bed. So he turned off the lights and made his way to his bedroom. As he got into bed and prepared to close his eyes, he couldn't help but look at the picture that hung across from him, the last of his original paintings from his days in school. It was of Pinkie, floating from a bouquet of balloons as her family desperately tried to get her back onto the ground. He chuckled. He closed his eyes. He went to sleep.
Arthur Renai Craftswell was nopony special.
But being friends with Pinkamena Diane Pie certainly made him feel that way.